The Mechanics of Metal Men
by Krin
Summary: Short JakX oneshot. Keira is in the racing garage, alone, as always. Sick from Rayn's poison, unhappy in the dirty city of Kras and missing home, what else can go wrong?


**A one shot I wrote a while ago (August 2006!) that never got posted here. Enjoy!**

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_And it is sayd, that he who makes the Metal Mann walk, with Darke Ecoe, shall control a perfect Servant. But he who gives Lyfe to the Metal Mann - the gifts of Calculation and Anticipation of the Enemie - shall control a more perfect Mirror, having been given both the Thought of Mann and the speed of the Gods, which beholds Glory at the ende of every Path. He who has made such a Metal Mann shall be Victor in all Hostilities._  
Ecoe Mechaniks of Metal Menn I  
Temple Archives

_But I've concluded that there are "Mechaniks" we have yet to unearth, to construct a Metal Mann which can obey independently but unquestionably, and understand the necessity of victory, and, above all, share the vision that my sister and I are building._  
Diary XVI of Gol Acheron _  
Recreations II_, lines 13-15  
Temple Archives- Restricted Section (Dark Eco Studies)

The door on the furnace was put on upside-down. Everyone knew the handle should be on the right side, so it could swing open to the left to accommodate the swoop-lines of zoomers. But there were the hinges, glinting on the wrong side. Keira sighed and slammed the furnace shut. She rubbed her face.

The garage was dark and musty. Open containers of half-used wax leeched chemicals into the air. There were no windows and every metal surface was shellacked with grime. Keira had scratched a counter with her nail to confirm it.

She hadn't eaten yet today. She was afraid of what would happen if she did. Her stomach rumbled, tired of processing its own toxic lining. Every meal since that glass of Rayn's wine was nauseating. When the poison really kicked in, colorful shapes zipped along with the spinning walls. It was worst in the evening, when she was tired. But Keira, who strived to find the positive side of all things, figured that at least the migraine-induced hallucinations added some _intensity_ to the gloom.

This place wasn't anything like her old racing garage. Sure, some of the processes were automated and there was a state-of-the-art water/eco cooling system for quick repairs. Sure, the furnaces had air ducts that pulled smoke _out_ of the room. But it wasn't _home_.

And home wasn't home anymore. When the Palace fell, it crushed most of Mar Memorial Stadium. It smashed her workshop. Every prototype she had built, every metallurgy equation she'd discovered, all the sketches she had drawn on napkins- lost beneath chunks of insulation wreathed in asbestos.

She was so glad she habitually wandered around the city with a handful of her favorite tools tucked into her belt. She patted the cracked yakkow leather handles. They alone had survived.

Keira surveyed her selection of wrenches – thirty-three, to be exact – and chose the one she had brought from Haven. Sure, the others weren't rusty, but they didn't quite fit her hands. Their weights were off. She hefted her wrench. Perfect balance.

Jak thought he could win this race. Keira didn't doubt he could, she just would rather _she_ got to race. Daddy and Jak weren't around during her first two years in Haven. Did they really think she was so delicate? She'd survived on her own and run a shop. Did they really think she couldn't handle one little race? She designed, due to some interesting incongruities in time, three generations of land vehicle. A Gravs and zoomers and jetboards, oh my. And now she was a master of four-wheeler repair. She could put an engine together with her eyes closed faster than Jak could do with his Peacemaker.

She _was_ the race.

But that didn't matter. Apparently.

She stomped the hood release next to the clutch. The gearshift swiveled into first. She eyed it and pulled it back. "That's not a good slip," she said. "We can't have your transmission falling out in the middle of a turn."

It's not that she was crazy. Talking to herself was second nature. First nature had been left in Sandover to fiddle with the A Grav.

As she tightened belts and double-checked the coolant levels, she tried to ignore the aches in her joints. "After this mess is over, I'm working on something with legs. At least it would be able to come to me without the damn towing expense. And the excuses. Always Jak's excuses…" she trailed off, remembering broken toys from the past. She reached for the oil. "Legs? What am I talking about? Let's see, grease this and turn _this_ and then this should work. Aha!"

"Reserwhirr rerrerr?"

Keira whipped around. The garage was silent, several vehicle-maintenance lights blinking. She waited, holding her breath. Nothing but the faint smell of toasted wires. She inched over to the garish couches and turned the tv on.

"-would be welcome, in this state. Whoa! Did you see _that_? Looks like another of Razer's team has disappointed. I wonder what sort of punishment will befall him! After being scraped off the pavement, I mean."

Keira made a face and muted the winking man. His suit was gaudy enough to brighten part of the garage, which is what she wanted. For the hell of it, she flicked the emergency lights on.

"I've heard too many stories about a girl being caught unaware in Kras," she said to the receding darkness. "You won't get me."

"Rezzerwhirrrer er?"

Keira leapt onto the couch. She glared around the room. "Where are you?"

She really, really wanted to think that noise was coming from some sort of robot-cat. But the whistling of leaky, one-and-a-quarter, fluted hydraulics told her it most probably wasn't.

"Whirrrez raurwhirrzer."

She cursed. _You'd think Krew would have built this place to keep unauthorized people out._ "Come near me and I'll open your shiny faceplate with Precursor metal." Still brandishing the remote, she fumbled in her pocket. "I, er, made them myself. Five times stronger than KG-issue steel! Darn it, where is…."

"Wihirrrrrr rehh."

Keira knew machines didn't breathe. The regularity of pressurized air being forced through galvanized valves was unnerving. Then she realized it was walking.

"GAH-ha!" She twisted her fear into a laugh. It wasn't very convincing. But machines didn't know that. She held up her screwdriver, star-tipped and in perfect, sharp, condition. "You're lucky I don't have my gun on me," she shouted. "I'd drop you like a loose combat… uh," her train of thought crashed into an oncoming migraine. She glanced at the clock. The numbers danced and turned. The race was half-over. Surely Torn had lost by now and would return to the garage? "Like a … waste you like a … oh, kangarats."

"Whzzrrrrrr."

If homicidal, ex-KG bots missing an eyepiece could smile, this one would light up a room. The sparks shooting from its knees threatened to do so, anyway. It waved a welding gun in one hand.

Keira stepped back and teetered on the edge of a cushion. "Waugh," she said, very softly. She felt nauseous. "Get away!" Spikes of color shot into her field of vision. The lonely red light of her communicator blinked from the table, between two purple cones. "Oh, not now! Ugh…"

UR-86 snatched the remote from her. It clattered to the floor.

"-AND he goes over the edge! This is _not_ a good sign for the newbies! Aha ha, what do you think of that, Pecker?"

"Whirr rezzwhir!" UR-86 jabbed the welding gun into its hip and snatched at Keira's belt. Its fingers brushed her bare stomach.

"S-stay back!" Keira took another step and stumbled. She grabbed the wall. UR-86 whirred over the couch. Keira pulled her arm back and waited.

"Rzzwhir ahir hir." It was almost like laughter.

"Well, G.T., my, er, the homeboys from Haven are surely getting geared up for another round of-"

"Oh hey! It's time for commentary from someone who matters! Like me! Or my good friend… me!"

The robot bent. Keira screamed and jammed the screwdriver in its good eyepiece.

"WHZIRRRRRR!"

_My dear Brother always forgets Emotion, and that even a created being will do all in its power to preserve Itself, when its mortality is pressed upon it._  
Diary XXIX of Maia Acheron_  
Recreations I _Lines 212-213  
Temple Archives- Restricted Section (Dark Eco Studies)

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**Fun Facts!**

**"Ecoe Mechaniks of Metal Menn" is mentioned in the fic "Night." It is a scroll about the robot Gol and Maia command, written by its creators many years before "Jak and Daxter: TPL" takes place.**

**All scrolls in the Temple Archives from this fic (and others) are/will be featured in the fic "Baroosh Baroosh," should I ever get off my ass and finish it.**

**UR-86/Keira as a non-romantic pairing (a couple in focus?) initiated by the need for repairs is intriguing to me. **


End file.
